


Healing Wounds

by rachel_exe



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Confessions, Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25841200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachel_exe/pseuds/rachel_exe
Summary: Jaskier took a better look at the witcher, lying lifeless in such a peaceful environment. There were dark patches on his black shirt, probably the same blood that was on his hair and hands. His chest still heaved and pained grunts came from his throat, so at least he was alive.Alive but unconscious and with only a horse to keep him safe. Jaskier already knew this wasn’t going to end well for him. He was still mad at Geralt for how things had gone during the dragon hunt a few months before, but how could he leave him in a place like that with no one taking care of him?“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier cursed again, dumping his bag on the ground and placing his lute against the tree.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 579





	Healing Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for checking this fic out, I hope you enjoy!  
> Massive thank you to [ Bean ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bean_writes/pseuds/Bean_writes/works) for the support and help on this fic and for listening to me whining about meaningless things <33

The path in the middle of the forest was covered by blooming flowers and dried sticks that creaked at Jaskier’s passage. Birds were chirping and other hidden animals were calling each other with cries that pierced the silence of a beautiful spring afternoon. Mating season at its finest. With his lute in his hands and his bag over his shoulders, Jaskier was following the road to the nearest town. He was short of coin and desperately needed an audience to earn something or he’d have to sleep under the stars once more.

Lost in the new melody in his mind, Jaskier walked off the path, jumping over logs and ducking under branches as he chased his muse. He stopped only when he reached a little river blocking his path, and rapidly blinking, he realised he had once more strayed from the road. He turned around and was about to go back when an unusual noise caught his attention. 

It wasn’t a mating call nor a happy chirping, it was more muffled, a subdued grunt that could be easily missed. Jaskier’s mind immediately listed all sorts of monsters that could be lurking in the forest or thieves wanting to rob him – a very poor prey, considering Jaskier’s mostly empty pockets. A hint of fear twisted Jaskier’s gut, but he tried to tell himself that the sun was still high in the sky and the little river too far away from the path for thieves. 

But what was it then? 

Curiosity had the best of him, and he quietly followed the noise, walking on his tiptoes and with his lute flushed to his body. They could take anything, but not his instrument. Heart thrumming in his ears, Jaskier neared the groans. The soft grass made no noise under his feet, so he distinctly heard the sound from before as he reached a big tree. It was more like a pained grunt than anything else, like someone was suffering behind that trunk, so he moved closer to get a better look of what it was. 

The first thing he saw was a pair of boots. Black, worn out boots that had seen better days and that covered lifeless feet. The next thing he noticed were five different small bottles, all open and empty, a few drops of their content dripping out. His stomach twisted at that, a bad feeling holding it in a tight grip. He moved closer and saw white hair resting on slumped shoulders, dirty and with red, sticky ends. Blood. 

“Bollocks,” he cursed, clenching his fists and looking up at the sky. 

He looked again at the man in front of him, stepping a bit closer to touch him, but a sudden neigh made him jump. 

“Bloody hell,” Jaskier yelled, holding his lute even closer, all life leaving his body. With wide eyes, he stared at the elongated face in front of him until he realised it was a horse. “Fucking hell, Roach, you scared the crap out of me.” Jaskier tried to calm down his heart, never letting go of his lute. “What are you doing here?” 

As if to reply to him, the horse neighed again, pawing the ground as she sniffed Geralt. Was she watching over him? 

Jaskier took a better look at the witcher, lying lifeless in such a peaceful environment. There were dark patches on his black shirt, probably the same blood that was on his hair and hands. His chest still heaved and pained grunts came from his throat, so at least he was alive. 

Alive but unconscious and with only a horse to keep him safe. Jaskier already knew this wasn’t going to end well for him. He was still mad at Geralt for how things had gone during the dragon hunt a few months before, but how could he leave him in a place like that with no one taking care of him? 

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier cursed again, dumping his bag on the ground and placing his lute against the tree. 

The first thing Jaskier did was to clean Geralt’s wounds. He assumed all those potions he had taken would help with the healing, but he still deemed it necessary to wash the blood away and see the damage. Removing Geralt’s shirt proved to be harder than anticipated. The fabric was wet and tight, and Jaskier didn’t want to hurt Geralt further, so with slow and careful movements he lifted the piece of clothing as far up as he could. There was no way he was going to be able to remove it completely. 

He hissed when he saw all the open cuts on Geralt’s stomach. The fight must have happened fairly recently because blood was still oozing from them and there was no sign of healing yet. He took a cloth from his bag and went to the river to wet it before passing it over the wounds. Geralt’s face scrunched up a little, but no other sign of discomfort came from the witcher. 

It took Jaskier many trips to the river to clean all the blood away, and even then, more was seeping from the wounds. He looked through Geralt’s bag and found an extra shirt that he ripped into stripes to wind around the witcher’s torso. Jaskier was no healer, but he was fairly proud of the way he bandaged Geralt up. 

Tired after walking up and down the river for so long, he sat on the ground, keeping an eye on Geralt. What had happened to him? Who did he fight to have such deep wounds? Jaskier had seen the kinds of monsters people hired him to kill, but Geralt had always been swift with his sword, and even if he got hurt a couple of times, nothing had been as bad as this. 

He shook the worries away. Geralt had been an ass to him the last time they had seen each other, and he was taking care of him only because he felt bad for him. Nothing more. No deeper feelings directing his movements. 

The sun was rapidly setting, and his stomach grumbled for food, so he stood up and went to look for wood in the forest. He found enough sticks and tinder to light up a fire, which would have been pretty easy if Jaskier had known how to do it. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t an expert on such things. In the past Geralt had been the one to set camp, and the rare times he had had to do it by himself, it had taken him ages to actually light up the fire. 

He placed the sticks and dry weed near Geralt and did his best to create a sparkle. He rubbed stones together, exposed the wood to the direct rays of the sun, blew on the weed when he thought he had seen a little flame in them. He even thought of using Geralt’s sword to create a sparkle for the fire, but then gave up. He had no clue how to handle a sword either. 

It had gotten to the point where he was seriously fearing for his finger’s wellbeing when he decided to look through Geralt’s bag. There was bound to be something there. He found a few coins, hay for Roach, a knife, a stone he probably used to sharpen his sword, more potions that looked too dark to be any good, and then finally, at the bottom of the bag, he found some flint. He used that and the knife to create some friction, and eventually a little sparkle lit the tinder on fire. 

He laid a blanket on the ground and took out a piece of bread from his bag. He didn’t have much food left, he’d have to head into town in a few days, but for now that was enough. He sat down next to the fire and glanced at Geralt as he munched on his food. 

What had he gotten himself into? 

  
  
A few days went by with Jaskier taking care of Geralt, cleaning his wounds, and wetting his lips with water. No reaction came from the witcher, who kept being in his potion-induced coma as if Jaskier wasn’t there. It was lonely being in the middle of the forest with a horse as his only companion, but it was also a good place to come up with new songs, and he often went scouting for food (once again, not his forte and a high danger for his delicate fingertips). 

It was when he was about to finish all his and Geralt’s supplies that Jaskier decided to head into town. He hoped Geralt wouldn’t wake up while he was away or that no wild animal would come and consider him its prey. 

“We’re going on a little trip together, aren’t we, Roach?” he said, patting the animal. 

Roach neighed, shaking her head. 

“We won’t be away for long, we’ll be back in no time,” he assured her before taking his bag and climbing on her back. He threw a worried glance at Geralt just to be safe, he didn’t want to hear any of his complaints for riding Roach, but the witcher didn’t move, and Jaskier directed the horse into town. 

“I think I’d need some food for sure, I’m basically starving,” he said out loud. “It would be so nice to have some chicken or any kind of meat, really, and a cake, I really miss those. Oh, and I need to get something special for Roach too, don’t I?” He caressed the horse on her neck before stopping himself. “I’m starting to talk to a horse as if she was human, I might be losing it already.” 

He reached the town after half an hour of riding. He had been there a few times in the past, left some mad lovers that had inspired a few of his songs too. He hoped he wouldn’t bump into anyone of them, he couldn’t afford to have his lute broken once again. He hopped down from Roach, and walking on the muddy street full of passers-by and beggars, he reached the square where vendors were selling their goods at the stands. 

He firstly bought food, products that wouldn’t go stale easily. He bought fabric to use as bandages for Geralt too, and with what was left of his money, he went to the stand where they sold musical instruments. Not that he wanted to buy a new lute, he wouldn’t have enough for it anyway, but he still enjoyed fantasising about all the new songs he could sing with a better instrument. 

“If it isn’t Jaskier,” the man at the stand greeted him. “The bard that just won’t just up.” 

“My heart yearns for songs, and I can’t refuse its desires.” Jaskier smiled. “What are you selling today, Davis?” 

“I’ve got some excellent lutes if that’s what you’re after,” the man replied, showing Jaskier three instruments on the side of the stand. “All of top quality, they will even write the songs for you if you buy them.” 

“How much would they cost?” Jaskier casually asked. 

“Ten coins each.” 

“And for a friend?” 

“Ten coins each.” 

“C’mon, Davis, we’ve known each other for so long, haven’t we?” Jaskier said, amiably walking behind the stand. “Remember when I sang at your daughter’s birthday? Everyone was ecstatic about my performance.” 

“I remember all the fathers that came knocking on my door after you had fucked their daughters.” Davis crossed his arms. 

“I can’t say no to some beautiful ladies when they demand my services,” Jaskier defended himself. “And this is between you and me, between friends.” 

Davis snorted. “Friends.” The man put down the lute in his hands. “It’s ten coins, no exceptions.” 

Jaskier groaned. The lute was a beautiful instrument, but he had only one coin left. 

“Actually, is your witcher friend still in the business?” Davis asked. “I could make you a good deal if he accepts a job for me.” 

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” Jaskier replied. Telling people Geralt was hurt and unconscious with only him as his guard didn’t seem like a good idea. “But if I happen to see him, I’ll tell him about your offer. You keep that lute away from unworthy hands, okay?” 

“A buyer is a buyer, worthy or unworthy.” 

Jaskier huffed, turning on heels, longingly looking at the lute before walking away. 

Once he had securely tied all his bags on Roach’s saddle, he decided to go back to Geralt. Even if he hated it, the thought of him all by himself and at everyone’s mercy unsettled him and urged him to leave the town. He climbed on the horse and made his way through a busy city centre and finally onto the forest path. 

On his way back he stopped to pick up some wild berries and wood for the fire. The forest was peaceful, no dangerous animals in sight nor thieves trying to rob him, and yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. He kept turning around, thinking he had heard a stick break or some leaves move, only to find an empty road. 

_I’m really starting to lose my mind_ , he thought as he safely guided Roach down the path. 

Geralt was in the same spot as where he had left him. The light breeze had flown his hair over his face, but everything else was the same. As he did every morning, Jaskier took a moment to make sure he was still alive. His chest was heaving, slowly but surely, so Jaskier quickly took the supplies from Roach. 

As he sorted things out, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. He kept looking around, stopping in the middle of something to listen to the forest around him, but all he heard was the flow of the river and the singing of birds. 

He spent the afternoon as every other day, washing Geralt and playing his lute. He didn’t know what else to do, there was nothing for him to do to begin with. He continued to wonder why he was still there, why he hadn’t left Geralt to fend for himself as he would have probably done if Jaskier had been the one to be hurt, but he couldn’t accept the answer he always found. 

“Why does it have to be so complicated?” he sighed, leaning against a tree. He turned his head to look at Roach. “You’re so lucky to be a horse, you know that? No feelings, no worries, no misunderstandings, just carrying people around, kicking some in the balls too.” 

Roach didn’t reply, only kept eating the grass. 

“Oh gods, I’m talking to a horse, expecting an answer,” Jaskier grunted. “Who have I become? Geralt?” 

The sun set and Jaskier once more lit up a fire. He was getting good at it, now he only burnt himself eight times instead of ten as the first time he had done it. He sat with his back against a tree, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the warmth. Even if it was spring, the nights were chilly, and the flames of the fire spread a comforting heat as a sweet slumber fell on him. 

His head was already dropping on his chest when a distinct noise reached his hears. Someone was walking around their camp. Sticks creaked again, nearer this time, and Jaskier’s eyes shot open. A man with a knife in hand reciprocated his gaze. His clothes were ragged and the weapon he had not that sharp, but the feral look in his eyes made fear rise in Jaskier’s blood. 

They stared at each other without uttering a word. It was like the world had stopped moving, like everything around them was holding their breath, waiting for one of them to make a move. The man did it first. He launched himself at Jaskier, knife in front of him, but reflexes were on Jaskier’s side, and the bard rolled on the ground away from the man. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he shouted. “We can talk about this.” 

The man didn’t reply, only looked at him with bloodshot eyes. 

“I swear I didn’t sleep with your wife, she came to me first,” Jaskier said, hands open in front of him. 

“What?” the man rasped. “I’m here for that bastard of a witcher, you’re just in the way.” 

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, surprised. “I can’t let you kill him either, sorry. I have some unfinished business with him.” 

“Me too,” the man grunted before charging again. 

Jaskier yelped, moving to the side. He almost tripped on a root because of the darkness, but he kept himself up and ran towards Geralt. The witcher was still sleeping like a baby as if their lives weren’t in danger. 

“C’mon, Geralt, wake up,” Jaskier implored, looking at the intruder going towards him again. “Fuck.” 

Not knowing what else to do, Jaskier took Geralt’s sword. It was heavier than he had expected, and he almost dropped it on the floor, but he managed to raise it in front of him, standing his ground. The poor man stopped to look at him for a moment, he knew his knife couldn’t do anything against Geralt’s blade, but he quickly realised Jaskier didn’t know the first thing about swords and charged again. 

Jaskier swung the weapon with a cry that he hoped would be intimidating, but he wasn’t able to scare the man away, so he just ducked to the side, avoiding the knife. 

“Listen, why don’t we just talk about this?” he said, circling around the tree and coming to stand in front of Geralt again. “Why don’t we just clear things between us? I’m sure Geralt wouldn’t mind.” 

“I don’t have any business with you, bard.” The man spat out the last word as if it was an offence. “I just want that piece of shit.” 

“I understand, but we can just talk, I could make a ballad to lighten things up, what do you say?” 

The man spat on the ground as a reply. 

“Okay.” Jaskier shrugged, holding the sword with two hands, fear running through him. 

The man swung his knife once more, and this time Jaskier was able to block the attack. The man was knocked off balance, and Jaskier took the opportunity to shake his sword at him again. The intruder moved backwards to avoid it, but in doing so, he tripped over a root and fell on the ground, hitting a rock. 

When he didn’t get up, Jaskier hesitantly poked him with his sword. He didn’t move. A sense of relief washed over Jaskier, and he dropped the sword on the ground, blessing the gods for his lucky star. The man had hit a rock and was now lying unconscious, so Jaskier quickly tied a rope around his wrists and ankles. He would think later about what to do with him. 

With two unconscious men around him, Jaskier sat in front of the fire. “Why did this have to happen to me?” he whined, passing a hand over his face. 

He had to wait fifteen minutes before the man woke up. He writhed a little, grunting as his eyes slowly opened. He turned his head around and only when he realised he had been tied up did he start moving around, cursing under his breath. 

“No need to wiggle like a worm,” Jaskier assured him. “I know how to do a proper knot.” 

The man spat on the fire. “Free me.” 

“How about we have a chat?” Jaskier stretched his legs forward and rested his back on the tree. “How did you know Geralt was here?” 

“I recognised the stupid horse, and you’re easy to follow.” 

“Hey, no need to be offensive, we’re just having a chat,” Jaskier said, upset. 

The man snickered but stayed silent. 

“What do you want from Geralt?” 

“That’s none of your business.” The man glared at him. 

“Considering I am taking care of him to make sure he doesn’t die before time, I think it is my business.” 

“I didn’t know the bastard had a guard dog.” 

“I am but a humble bard.” Jaskier bowed his head. 

The man scoffed, trying to break the rope. 

“I just want to know why you want to kill Geralt and then I might consider freeing you,” Jaskier said. 

The man intently looked at him, weighing his options before opening his mouth. “The bastard killed my lover.” 

“Geralt?” Jaskier cocked his head. “It doesn’t sound like something he’d do on his own, someone must have paid him.” 

“He said she was a shapeshifter that the burgomaster hired him to kill, but I don’t believe it, it’s just lies,” the man shouted, biting his lip as his face got taken over by pain. 

“Shapeshifters can indeed be dangerous.” 

“She wasn’t one,” the man shouted again. “She was special.” 

“Everyone is when your eyes are blinded by love,” Jaskier bitterly replied. 

“My Violet was, she was beautiful, and kind, she loved me.” 

“Did you see Geralt killing her?” 

“I did,” the man replied, a pained veil crossing over his eyes. “Or at least I think I did, that wretched abomination cast a spell on me, and my beautiful Violet turned into an horrible creature.” 

Jaskier sighed internally. “She was a shapeshifter, Geralt had no reason to cast a spell on you, in fact, I’m not even sure he can.” 

“He did it right after accusing my Violet of killing the burgomaster’s son. I know she didn’t, she was such a sweetheart, she can’t have possibly done that.” 

Jaskier sighed out loud. “You can say a lot of things about Geralt, that he’s a cold-hearted bastard, a killing machine, an asshole, but he has his morals too, I doubt he’d ever kill an innocent.” 

“And how do you know that? You weren’t there that day.” 

“I just know him pretty well, I know what kind of person he is.” Jaskier threw a glance at Geralt’s unconscious body, a nostalgic glint shining in his eyes. “Trust me when I say he wouldn’t have hurt anyone unless he was certain they were a menace.” 

Instead of replying, the man started sobbing. Curled up in himself, hands and feet tied, he hid his face on the ground while his shoulders shook. Jaskier felt sorry for him, he himself knew a thing or two about heartbreaks. In an unexpected way, both him and the man crying before his eyes could blame the same person for their heartache. 

“C’mon, it’ll pass soon,” Jaskier assured, standing up. “I’m freeing you, but only if you promise to leave us alone.” 

The man nodded and Jaskier didn’t find it hard to believe him. He was on the verge of having a breakdown, and it would have been a miracle if he was able to stand on his feet. 

“Thank you,” the man said as Jaskier freed him. “I don’t want to be a murderer.” 

“That’s fine, I too sometimes want to kill Geralt, there’s nothing wrong with it.” 

The man sniffled. “Why do you keep sticking around then?” 

“I wonder,” Jaskier muttered, looking at the figure sleeping under the tree, but deep down, he already knew the answer. 

  
  
Life after that episode went by without further scares. Jaskier had gotten used to taking care of Geralt by now, he had set a routine each morning of cleaning his wounds, washing his body as best as he could, and then lighting up the fire. But if he had been able to get used to his new daily life, he hadn’t been able to subdue the crippling fear that crept up on him each night. 

What if Geralt didn’t recover? 

The thought of waking up one day only to see the witcher’s chest still and feel his cold skin was enough to keep Jaskier awake at night. He had spent so much time with Geralt, so many adventures shared together that he couldn’t even picture a life without him. It was true that there was still a lot to clear between the, but all Jaskier wanted now was for Geralt to open his eyes. 

The pain that overtook him at the thought of having to bury Geralt himself was enough to drive him insane. He didn’t want to face the same suffering as the man in love with a shapeshifter, didn’t want to go mad for the pain. He had known heartache before, but nothing would compare to losing Geralt. He wanted to have a chance to make things right between them again, he wanted to part from him with no regrets in his heart, he needed to talk to Geralt one more time. 

To forget about the possibility of Geralt never waking up again, that night Jaskier picked up his lute and sang one of the many ballads he had composed for the witcher. He sat by the fire with Roach as his only spectator and started singing. His voice was clear in the silence of the night, and his fears faded with each line. 

He missed having an audience to cheer him on, missed seeing the reactions of other people to his singing. One of these day he’d have to go back in town for supplies, and while there, he might as well stop by an inn and earn some coin like that. He didn’t have much left to pay for his food anyway, and he dreaded the thought of having to hunt things himself. He was a born bard, not a born hunter. 

He had been going on for a good ten minutes when a light grunt caught his attention. He immediately stopped playing and turned towards Geralt with wide eyes. His face was twitching and his fingers moving, but his eyes were still close. 

“Geralt,” he said with so much relief in his voice he even surprised himself. “Geralt, are you awake?” 

No reply came from the witcher, he only grunted again, slowly raising his head. His eyes blinked open, but they were empty, a bottomless darkness that didn’t show any sign of life. 

“Jask..ier,” Geralt muttered in a feeble voice. 

“Yes, it’s me, Geralt, I’m here.” Almost subconsciously, Jaskier took his hand. “How are you feeling?” 

“I..” Geralt’s words were struggling to leave his mouth, and his face often contorted in pain. “…sorry.” 

“Shh, don’t speak if you don’t have enough strength. Does something hurt?” 

Geralt bore his eyes on Jaskier, but through the darkness, Jaskier couldn’t tell if he was actually looking at him. 

“Sorry…” Geralt repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “…dragon…Jask…ier.” 

“We can talk about that later, now you have to regain your strength,” Jaskier said with his heart pounding a million miles an hour. “Let me get you some water.” 

Before he could stand up, Geralt’s head had fallen on his chest again, his eyelids covering the effects of his potions. 

With his hand still in his own, Jaskier bent forward and pressed his forehead on their laced fingers, silent tears wetting his cheeks. 

  
  
The following days, Jaskier could only think about Geralt’s apology. Had he really meant that or was it just a fever dream that didn’t mean anything? Was Geralt dreaming about him, about the words he had said that day on the mountain? The thought of him maybe being haunted by guilt-filled nightmares secretly satisfied Jaskier, but it was just a fleeting feeling, he could only wish for Geralt to wake up to finally have a talk. 

It was an evening when his wish became reality. The sun had already set, and the fire was comfortingly cracking next to him as he cleaned Geralt. His wounds weren’t bloody anymore, they were turning into yet another set of scars on Geralt’s chest, but he still liked to take care of him as much as he could. 

He was carefully passing a wet cloth on Geralt’s skin when the witcher started to squirm, softly grunting as someone who woke up after a long nap. Jaskier immediately froze and bore his eyes on Geralt’s face, watching as his brows furrowed and his eyes slowly fluttered open. They were of their usual golden colour, and the sight comforted Jaskier more than anything else. 

“Look who decided to wake after almost two weeks,” he said, sitting down on the ground. “Did you sleep well?” 

Geralt confusedly looked around, huffing as he tried to sit up, hissing as he touched his stomach. 

“Careful, you’re not fully healed yet,” Jaskier told him. 

“I’m fine,” Geralt muttered in a croaky voice. 

“Stop trying to be so tough, you were out for a long while, it’s okay to admit you’re hurting.” 

Geralt turned his head towards him as if he noticed his presence for the first time. “Why are you here?” 

“I found you while walking in the forest,” Jaskier explained. “For as much as I wanted, I couldn’t let you die here all alone.” 

Geralt grunted, trying to stand up, but his legs shook, and he had to lean on the tree. 

“Careful,” Jaskier scolded him, going near him. “You can lean on me, but I’m not letting you go further than that log on the other side of the fire.” 

Geralt didn’t reply, it was like his brain was still trying to wake up and his thoughts didn’t properly register. He did lean on Jaskier, however, so the bard could lead him around the fire and help him sit down on the log he used while eating. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. 

Geralt nodded, warming his hands on the fire and rubbing them together. 

Before getting some food, Jaskier grabbed a blanket and threw it over Geralt’s shoulders. He boiled some water and put in the last vegetables he had around. He wondered whether to mix some meat too, it was a pricey food and he had been carefully rationing it, but he then decided Geralt needed some more sustenance after fasting for so long. 

“Here.” He handed him his flask of water. “You must be thirsty too.” 

Geralt took the flask and drank all of it in one go, some beads of water drooling down his chin. Once he was done, he put the flask on the ground and wiped away the fallen droplets. 

Next to him, Jaskier stirred the pot, unable to take his eyes away from him. He still couldn’t believe Geralt had woken up and was healthy again. The amount of times he had woken up during the night to make sure he was okay was too long to count, and he had taken care of him for so many days, even defending him from an attempted murder, that he could only rejoice at the positive change. 

“Do you feel like telling me what happened to you?” he asked. “When I found you, you were passed out with so many bottles of potions empty that I thought you had drugged yourself.” 

“I didn’t,” Geralt replied before clearing his throat. His voice was still raw, almost sexy Jaskier had to admit. “I was attacked while taking care of some monsters in a nearby city. They were too many for me, but I killed them all. Too bad I was about to die too.” 

“I always told you you were too careless sometimes, that you needed someone to look after you.” 

Geralt grunted but didn’t say anything more, and Jaskier left him be. He had so many more questions, but for once he held back and let Geralt stare into the fire in silence. Once the soup was ready, he filled up a bowl for the witcher and watched as he hungrily wolfed everything down, asking for another portion when he was done with the first one. Jaskier gave him all the remaining soup, and kept watching him, still not believing his own eyes. 

  
  
They stayed in the forest for a few more days. Geralt rapidly regained all his strength, it was like the two weeks he had been in a coma hadn’t happened, and he often went hunting for food by himself. Jaskier travelled into town to get more supplies, but a sense of urgency always led him back to their camp. Now that he was reunited with a conscious Geralt, he couldn’t stand staying away for too long. 

The veil of tension between them was undeniable. Jaskier felt it from the moment Geralt had woken up, they were both thinking of how they parted ways the last time they has seen each other, but neither of them knew how deal with it. Many times Jaskier had had to bite his tongue to hold back the words, he still wanted to let Geralt recover, but now the witcher seemed as fine as always, and the need to get answers was starting to eat at him. 

“Do you remember when you woke up during your potion coma?” he casually said one evening as they ate the rabbits Geralt had caught. 

The witcher looked at him with unreadable eyes and then took another bite of his food. It didn’t seem like he had any intention of replying and Jaskier was already about to repeat his question when Geralt caught him off guard. 

“I do,” he said, looking at the fire. 

“And?” 

“And what?” Geralt raised his gaze. 

“I want an apology from you while you’re sane, not while your minded is clouded by those potions.” 

Geralt scoffed. “If I could recognise you, my mind wasn’t clouded.” 

“Don’t beat around the bush,” Jaskier said. “Your words left me broken-hearted, after all we’ve been through together.” 

Jaskier’s eyes fell on the ground, and he had to bite his lip not to say anything more revealing. All the pain and heartache were coming back in full force. He had been fooling himself in the past days, taking care of Geralt as if everything was fine, but it wasn’t, it had never been. 

“I’d rather not think about that day,” Geralt said, looking at his food. “It was a clusterfuck of people getting hurt.” 

“That’s why we need to talk about it, I know you’re still stuck there. If that fever confession was anything to go by, anyway.” 

Geralt didn’t reply. He just kept staring at his cooked rabbit as if he could find an answer there. His brows furrowed and his grip tightened, his jaw was set in a stern line, but that wasn’t anything new, or at least not enough to scare Jaskier away. 

When he finally spoke, his words were hushed and simple, not because he didn’t mean them, but because only Jaskier was supposed to hear the broken tone behind them. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Those little words were enough to fill Jaskier’s chest of life again. Of life and love. He had thought for so long that Geralt had been done with him, that he seriously considered him just a nuisance that he had come to blame himself for what had happened between them. He might have been right to partially blame himself for it, but he knew Geralt had played a big part in all that had happened too. 

“You’re smelling funny,” Geralt said, eyes meeting Jaskier’s. 

“Unlike you, I haven’t had anyone giving me sponge baths, you know?” Jaskier protested. “You can make up for it, though.” 

Geralt snorted, shaking his head. “I often smell that scent in brothels.” 

“Excuse you?” Jaskier shrieked. “I’ve been taking care of your unconscious body for two weeks, do you think I’ve had time for that?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” A small smiled graced Geralt’s lips. “And thank you for that.” 

“You’re welcome, it’s all thanks to me that you’re back on your feet.” 

Strangely enough, Geralt smiled again before going back to his food. 

“In honour of the good old times, I should play something for you,” Jaskier said once they were done eating. 

Geralt was lying with an arm behind his head, looking up at the sky. 

“If you really must,” he retorted. 

“I do.” 

Jaskier picked up his lute and sat next to him in front of the fire. The warmth spreading on his back could almost compete with the one in his chest. Almost, because he knew that unlike the fire in their camp, the one in his heart wouldn’t go out during the night. 

Geralt quietly listened to him, and Jaskier’s voice came out softer than usual, almost a whisper that tuned in with the quiet night, with the steady murmur of the river, and the rhythmic buzzing of crickets. He had missed being out with Geralt like this, sing only for him, to annoy him most days, but also to convey something in the darkness, something he didn’t dare to say when the sun was out. 

That night they slept next to each other. Geralt would usually put some distance between them, maybe because he was still struggling with what had happened between them, but this time he didn’t move when Jaskier shuffled closer to him. The talk from earlier had made his heart ache again, and he longed for that proximity, for as neutral as it was. 

“You still smell,” Geralt said after a few minutes. 

“Listen, I washed myself earlier, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I think I’ve mentioned before that witchers can smell pheromones,” Geralt went on, carefully, as if explaining something dangerous. 

Jaskier didn’t understand what he was on about, he furrowed his brows while he repeated Geralt’s words in his mind until he understood. 

_I often smell that scent in brothels._

_Witchers can smell pheromones._

“Fuck.” 

“It’s not the first time I smell it on you, but today it’s stronger.” 

“I…” Jaskier tried to explain himself, but for the first time, he didn’t know what to say. “I’ve missed you.” 

Geralt turned around. The last remnants of the fire illuminated his features, softer than Jaskier had ever seen them. Maybe it was the shadows of the last flames that played tricks on his face, but whatever it was, it made Jaskier’s heart speed up. 

“It got stronger again,” Geralt pointed out with a grin. 

“Can you smell my anger too now?” Jaskier huffed. 

“It’s too faint for me to be intimidated by it.” 

“You’re really looking for a fight tonight, aren’t you?” 

Geralt snorted, his golden eyes shining with the flames. “If a witcher came by, I’m sure they’d smell the same scent on me.” 

The world was silent after those words. Jaskier’s mouth fell open, in a quiet “oh” as once again he didn’t know what to say. Being around Geralt really wasn’t good for his speech. It had been fine in the past, but that night Geralt had never been more honest and he made up for Jaskier’s lack of words. 

“Did being without me finally show you how important I am?” Jaskier said in an attempt to be funny, but the sentence felt wrong even to his own hears. 

Geralt chuckled nonetheless. Those potions might have affected his judgment as well. 

“You can put it like that.” 

His hand slowly moved near Jaskier and rested on his wrist. The place he was touching had turned into a little fire of its own, setting Jaskier’s body aflame. His cheeks turned crimson and his heart sped up, pumping more blood than necessary to his face. 

“You could have been a lot nicer about it,” he stuttered. “You didn’t need to yell at me before realising it.” 

“There were a lot of things I needed to figure out.” 

“And have you now?” 

Instead of replying, Geralt shuffled closer, trailing his hand up Jaskier’s arm and cupping his cheek. 

“I have,” he whispered, and then he caressed Jaskier’s skin with his thumb, so gently for someone used to fights and killing, but that unexpected tenderness was all the reassurance Jaskier needed. 

They moved together, bodies needing each other and lips eager for a taste of that sweet feeling coursing through both. When they kissed, Jaskier’s mind went blank. Usually, he would always think of what to do next, of how fast he could go without scaring his partner away, but this time he simply enjoyed the light touch, bathing in it as if the world consisted only of that. 

Geralt’s cheeks had a rosy pink once they pulled away. It was the loveliest shade Jaskier had ever seen, and he couldn’t help but reach out a hand and feel their warmth under his fingers. It was the first time he touched Geralt since he had woken up, and feeling his strong pulse again washed him with relief. 

“I’m still here,” Geralt muttered, squeezing Jaskier’s hip. 

“Sometimes I thought you’d never wake up, that I’d need to dig your grave myself,” Jaskier admitted. “It scared me.” 

“I took those potions exactly for that reason, they kept me alive while I was recovering.” 

“And how the hell was I supposed to know that?” Jaskier exclaimed. “You didn’t leave a note, nothing, just Roach and she isn’t much of a talker, let me be honest.” 

Geralt chuckled. “She’s a good listener, though.” 

“Don’t I know it? I don’t know many times I’ve heard you talk to her.” 

Geralt smiled and unexpectedly leaned forward to press another kiss on Jaskier’s lips. “I’m all good now, thank you for taking care of me.” 

“You better be thankful,” Jaskier mumbled. All he could think about were Geralt’s soft lips. 

“I’m sure you enjoyed washing me every day, stripping me, cleaning my chest.” 

“I sure did not.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t peek a single time.” 

“I never peeked,” Jaskier huffed. “I fully watched, I had to see what I was doing.” 

Geralt scoffed. “Of course.” 

This time he pressed a kiss on Jaskier’s hair, so carefully that Jaskier himself felt made out of glass. 

“Did those potions made you less grumpy as well?” Jaskier asked, turning red. 

“Now that I can, I’m just doing what I’ve always wanted to do.” 

“You didn’t have to wait so long, you could have always done it.” 

Their eyes met with no veil between them, no lies or dismissed feelings. Just two mirrors reflecting the same desires. They kissed again, slowly at first, but then their fingers got bolder, exploring what they had always wanted and touching the other as much as they could, discovering each other in new ways. 

It felt natural when Jaskier took a vial of oil out of his bag. He had bought it in town on a whim, just his wishful thinking directing his movements, but he was now glad he had listened to that part of his brain. When he undressed Geralt, his eyes immediately fell on his still evident scars. They were slowly fading, but they were still very much there, a reminder of what he had almost lost. 

“Are you sure you’ve enough strength for this?” he asked as he trailed his fingers on Geralt’s stomach. 

“Don’t underestimate the resilience of a witcher,” Geralt replied, taking him down for another kiss. 

Jaskier truly had nothing to worry about. Geralt was soon pressing him on the ground, naked and with his legs open for him. With fingers coated in oil, he teased his entrance, kissing his thighs before plunging inside. His movements were unhurried and his touch careful, but Jaskier’s body lit up nonetheless, a deep desire running through his veins. 

He clawed Geralt’s back, bringing their lips together every time he wasn’t moaning out loud. He couldn’t get enough of the sensation, of Geralt’s fingers thrusting inside him, stretching him open, but they weren’t enough. He needed more of Geralt, needed to be with him in every way possible. 

Geralt didn’t protest when Jaskier begged him to finally enter him. He simply removed his fingers and coated his cock with more oil, pumping himself a couple of times under Jaskier’s hungry gaze. He then lined himself up, holding Jaskier by his hips and gradually pushed inside. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier groaned when his hole stretched. 

Geralt caressed his sides, and leaned down to press a kiss on his chest, never stopping in his movements. Jaskier squirmed on the blanket and whined in pleasure until Geralt was seated inside him, filling him up so good it was hard to breathe. He brought their lips together, tongues tangling for a brief moment before Geralt started to move. 

Jaskier dug his nails in Geralt’s back, holding on to him as he fucked him. He was slow at first, still letting Jaskier adjust to him, but it was clear he was struggling to hold back. Jaskier could see it in the way his brows furrowed every time he was fully inside, in the way his fingers were pressing on his hips a bit too hard, but he had nothing to worry about. Jaskier had been ready for him for way too long, and he wanted all of him. 

“Faster,” he groaned, wrapping his legs around Geralt’s waist. 

Geralt’s chattiness had suddenly disappeared, and instead of replying, he simply nodded. He held Jaskier tighter and started pounding into him at a faster pace. Jaskier threw his head backwards, lips parting in a low moan and hole clenching around him. His entire body was quivering for the pleasure, and he couldn’t get enough of it. 

He desperately held on to Geralt’s shoulders as the witcher moved, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to last long. Geralt buried his nose in the crook of his neck, resting his forehead on it as he rammed into it. Their bodies were so flushed together that Jaskier could feel Geralt’s sweat sticking to him, his hot puffs tickling his hair. 

It was all he had wanted ever since the first time he had seen Geralt, and now that he had it, he kept craving for more. He tangled his hands in Geralt’s hair, crying out his name as he reached his orgasm. He wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking himself in time with Geralt’s thrusts. He took his lover down for another kiss, pressing his lips hard on Geralt’s before coming, softy moaning his name against his mouth. 

Geralt grunted as Jaskier’s come hit both their chests, but only when Jaskier was spent did he come too, his hot cum splattering inside Jaskier. 

After he pulled out, Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier, holding him close as they regained their breath. With his head on his chest, Jaskier could hear his heartbeat, slightly faster than normal, but most of all, alive. 

No words were shared as they cleaned themselves up and snuggled together for the night. Only soft touches and eloquent gazes, gentle kisses and above all, a comforting warmth that covered them like a secure blanket, wrapping them up in a newfound intimacy. After all those nights he had spent alone, worrying and overthinking, Jaskier found solace in their peaceful embrace, ready for new journeys with Geralt.

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a comment to your writer :)  
> [ Tumblr ](https://geraskier-hell.tumblr.com/)


End file.
